Listening In Elie Wiesel's 'Night'

A loud “whoosh” echoes throughout the dark distant auditorium, and in an instant huge gleaming lights lower themselves upon the stage. The stage sits empty, lifeless, waiting, listening..listening for one to drop jaws with their all-knowing Mozart Symphony or disappoint with a piece that has no rhythm. With each day a new audience gathers around to join the stage in listening. To some it just may be a song, but to others it is a message, a chapter, a story. A story that throws all of life's up’s, all of life's downs. All of it’s good days, it’s bad days. Everything described on one sheet of paper.. But ultimately that was the audience's choice. The stage waited each day for the next performer, for the next song..With each passing person a new song, a new story told, and here is mine.
Reaching the top, hidden around the corner of the curtain I watch the performer. The clarinets slow symphony spreads a tired, gloomy mood throughout the room. A soft finishing note seems to carry out for minutes. A pause of silence. Faint black figures all aligned in perfect rows is all that can be seen, and a loud applause burst all at once. The performer bows and waits for their judging. A big cringy looking man stands. He wears oversized khakis, a button up, and a face of complete confusion. Finding his way up the stage, he confronts the performer. In a booming voice he critiques even the slightest imperfections played in the piece. The performer's face flushes fast turning as pale as winter. A shake of the hand between the two and it is all over. The pressure I already felt rises higher than